Aaron Polson's Blog, page 16

The Editing Ninja Rises Again: Me and I

It's been a while since I've tackled an Editing Ninja post, but leave it to my students to provide inspiration.

Let's talk about personal pronouns, the first-person variety.

I is a subject. Use me when it's an object of a verb or preposition.

Incorrect: Vanessa and me like to watch old horror movies.

Correct: Vanessa and I love Vincent Price.

Incorrect: John invited Vanessa and I to his horror movie marathon.

Correct: John invited Vanessa and me to his horror movie marathon.

Simple, right? Eliminate the "___ and" and you can easily see which pronoun is correct. No one over the age of three would say "Me like to watch old horror movies."

Unless you are Cookie Monster.

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A Shocking Contest

Ken Wood, editor (and writer) extraordinaire, notified me "Wanting It" from Shock Totem #3 has been recommended for a Stoker. This doesn't mean I'll be adding "Stoker Recommended Author" on any book covers or anything because that would be silly. But it's nice to know somebody likes your work. If you haven't read "Wanting It" or anything from Shock Totem, leave this blog immediately and grab a copy.
I promised a contest, and a contest you shall have. This one relates to my recent release of In the Memory House.

An author can always use a bit of help spreading the word about his/her work, so that's what I'm asking of you, dear readers.

Mention the book in a blog, tweet about it, tuck it into a newsletter, Facebook it (is that a verb now?)... whatever. Just help spread the word.

If you tweet, mention my handle (@aaronpolson). I'll probably stumble across other references on the web, but you can either email me (aaron.polson(at)gmail.com) or drop a line in the comments to make sure I have your entries. And you can enter multiple times.

The contest runs through the end of the month.

What do you win? Half of my proceeds from In the Memory House through November 30th. Incentive? Yes.

The links:

In the Memory House at Amazon.com

In the Memory House at Amazon.co.uk

In the Memory House at Smashwords

Thank you, and happy hunting.

In the Memory House Now Available

In the Memory House is now available at Amazon.com, Amazon UK, and Smashwords with other formats (including print) to follow...

Of course you can sample the goods at yesterday's post. 

Anyway (and of more importance), Owen's soccer team won their tournament this weekend. The final standings came down to goal differential, which they edged the second place team by one. Yikes. He played his eight-year-old heart out, and I couldn't be more proud.

Better than a book release any day.

But book releases are great, too--really.  ;)

And "contests" are even better. I have one to announce tomorrow.

Stay tuned.

Sample Sunday: In the Memory House

In the Memory House, a new supernatural thriller, is now available at Amazon.com, Amazon UK, and Smashwords with other formats (including print) to follow...
From In the Memory House: They never planned to enter the house. They never knew the house existed. If not for the snowstorm, they would have never found the house—or, moreaccurately, the house would have never found them.  As it was, five friends stood on the concreteslab porch while wind whipped snow in small eddies around them Johnny, tall andangular in a light jacket, rapped his knuckles on the door.  The two girls—Kelsey with her dark, ropeycurls tucked under an ivory stocking cap and Sarah, blonde and pale and pretty andwearing pink—huddled together against the siding.  Ben, soft and thick with a lingering layer ofchildhood fat, leaned against the railing, staring across the white field.  "Nobody's home," Jared said.  Hewasn't wearing a proper coat.  As theyscrambled from the ditch, Kelsey had looked at his grey sweatshirt and jeansand had said he would freeze.  Jared, hisbrown eyes dark enough to challenge a moonless night, had smiled and said,"I'll be fine."  On the porch, he didn'teven shiver. "Doesn't look like we're getting in. We should head down the road,see if we can find someplace, any place to ride out the storm.  Nobody has any cell service, so we can't callsnow-plows-r-us."Ben rolled his eyes.  "We'd befine if dipshit hadn't landed us in the ditch." Johnny wheeled from the door. His blue eyes sparked. His fists clenchedand unclenched. "Dipshit?  I didn't seeyou volunteer to drive.  Damn SUV needsnew tires. They're as bald as Sarah's dad.""Hey," Sarah said.Kelsey squeezed her arm. "He's right. Your dad is pretty shiny upstairs. But I'm freezing. Right. Now. Can we just break in or something?  I'm sure Farmer Bob or whoever owns this placewould rather have a broken window than five humansicles in his field.""Farmer Bob?" Jared poked his head out from under the porch roof. "Damnplace is brick. Three stories. How do you figure a farmer lives here?"Kelsey shrugged and went back to shivering. "Out in the middle ofnowhere, that's how.""It's an old lock.  We can pickit rather than break a window." Johnny knelt in front of the door and squintedthrough the key hole.  "Does anybody havea hair pin? Sarah? Kels?""Hairpin?" Sarah screwed up her face. "Are you nuts?""I dunno.  Seems like it shouldwork.  They do it in all those old crustymovies J-rod watches." "Those are classics," Jared said. "God… No taste. Have you even triedthe door?" "What do you think he's been doing?" Ben boxed Jared on theshoulder.  "Knock-knock, who's there?"Johnny stretched to his full six foot, two inch height, placed one handon the doorknob, but yanked it away."What's wrong?" Kelsey asked."I dunno. It's cold.""Of course it's cold, numb-nuts. It's freezing. Have you seen the snow?" Ben waved across the field."Your hand's turning blue, too."Johnny rubbed his fingers. "No. It was a different kind of cold.""Here," Jared said, stepping forward. He wrapped his fingers around theknob and twisted. The door held for a moment, but then gave with a pop andcreak. "I see what you mean cold. But here we are, folks.  No broken windows, no picked locks, no frozentwenty-two-year-olds on the porch.  Itwasn't locked. Looks like the innkeeper doesn't mind trusting his neighbors.Our sanctuary." He stepped aside so the others could enter. Warmer air greeted them—not exactly warmair, but not as biting as the frigid exterior. A smell hung in the air, too,just like every house has its own odor. This smell was different, cold andsterile and clean, without the expected hint of dust and mold which an olderhouse should have."Hello?" Jared called into the house. No answer came."It's dark," Kelsey said. "And it smells funny, too."Ben sniffed. "Smells fine to me. Smells pretty clean.""Yes… That's what I mean," Sarah said. "I mean it smells funny becauseit's clean. I expected old person smell. Or dirt. Something musty and earthy. Farmer smell.""Maybe Farmer Bob likes to take care of his stuff." Ben strode throughthe foyer, past the dark wooden staircase and matching banister, and turnedright into what appeared to be a living room. A couch and two matched chairs were arranged on an ornate rug, the couchin the middle with the chairs facing each other on either side. Each was linedwith deep red upholstery. The rug and furniture shared a subtle paisleypattern, and in the dim light appeared to be an even darker red design on theburgundy fabric. A subtle, tan wallpaper covered the open stretches of wall.Deep hardwood molding surrounded everything."Find a light switch," Johnny said."Here." Jared punched a black button. "Old school switch." A simplebrass chandelier flickered above their heads. Weak, yellow light washed over the room. "At least we have power.""Not much of an improvement, if you ask me." Ben walked around thecouch and plopped in a seat.  He crossedhis boots on one armrest. "Farm Bob has some wickedly Victorian taste infurniture.""Ben—get your wet feet off the…" Kelsey's mouth hung open as shescanned the floor. "It's dry.  Your feetare dry.""See.  No problem."  Ben grinned. "I must have knocked all thesnow off before coming in."Kelsey backed toward the door. "I don't like it in here. I don't likethis house.""Shhhhh." Ben pressed a finger against his lips. "It might here you."He wagged his eyebrows."God, Ben. You and Kels sound like a B horror flick. First hairpins,now the house is alive." Sarah rolled her eyes. "Shouldn't we call somebody?"Johnny nodded. "I'll see if there's a phone around here.  Maybe in the kitchen or hallway.  In this black hole, Farmer Bob must have aline to the outside world."Sarah grabbed Johnny's arm. "I'll go with you."Kelsey's eyes moved from Ben's boots, to the floor and back to theboots. "I think I'll go with you guys. Ben? Jared?"Ben closed his eyes. Jared shook his head. "I'm going to chill righthere. No pun intended, of course." Johnny, Sarah, and Kelsey circled through the living room, past anopening for a hallway, and into the dining room.  Their footsteps on the hardwood floor weretiny things, whispers in a monstrous cave's mouth.  When they walked on the rug in the livingroom, they didn't make a sound. A large wooden block table with a set of fourchairs sat in the middle of the dining room. The table top, a dark, polished walnut finish, was clean. A point oflight from the window reflected in the middle. Kelsey walked to the table andrubbed a fingertip across the surface. Her skin squeaked against the wood. Johnny joined her at the side of the table. "Farmer Bob sure keeps thisplace clean, doesn't he?  Kind of a funnyhouse—not as big on the inside as I expected. I guess it does have the thirdfloor windows.  Maybe somebody bound andgagged—""Stop it, Johnny.  You'restarting to sound a little like Ben," Sarah said. "Creepy-deepy Ben.""You invited him on this trip." Johnny leaned over one of the chairs."I didn't."Sarah shot Kelsey a glare. "Kels opened her big mouth and Ben asked ifhe could go.  What was I going to say?""No."  Johnny smiled. "Fifthwheel and all.""He paid for a fifth of the cabin and bought us a lot of booze." Sarahtwirled a finger through a strand of hair. "That part wasn't so bad."Kelsey's chest tightened.  For amoment, she couldn't catch her breath. She fell back against the table and touched her neck with one hand."What's wrong?" Johnny asked. Kelsey shook her head. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong.  I just felt sort of, weird. Like asthma whenI was a little girl.  It's nothingreally. Just a little adrenaline from the wreck.  I'm just feeling a little shaken." She didn'twant to mention the cave, how she'd gotten lost on a tour as a girl and left inpure darkness. She didn't want to mention how she'd just felt a twinge of thesame, all-encompassing fear. Sarah rolled her eyes and mouthed the word "drama" toward Kelsey.  "Let's get out, then.  All ofus." Johnny strode across the room and through a small archway. "Bingo."Kelsey closed her eyes against the harsh daggers in Sarah's icy bluestare. It was Johnny. Kelsey knew it as sure as she knew her name. Jared was agreat guy, a solid friend, but they both wanted Johnny and Sarah sharpened herknives. Kelsey chewed her lip and shifted away.  "Let's see what he found," Sarah said. She turned and ducked throughthe archway without another glance at Kelsey.Johnny stood in the middle of a bright kitchen with an avocado greenphone receiver in one hand. A looping phone cord, matching the phone's green,dangled to the floor. Johnny's face was turned down in a frown. "What?" Sarah asked. "Dead."Kelsey felt a shiver at the word as though Johnny's voice had become anice block and rubbed over her back. "Dead?""Dead-dead. No signal. No buzz. No nothing."  Johnny waved the receiver toward the windows,a solid bank of which filled the wall behind the kitchen sink and between thecabinets.  Yellow and white ginghamcurtains hung open revealing a blinding field of snow and small shed behind thehouse. The cabinets had been painted white with yellow highlights to match thecurtains. "Must be the snow.""But the house has power," Sarah said. "If the power—""It doesn't work that way, Sarah. Electricity and phone are on separate lines. I figured most phone lineswere buried out here, though."  Johnnydropped the receiver on its wall cradle. Plastic clicked against plastic. "We better get back to the others andfigure out what the hell we're going to do."Kelsey started back through the archway, but paused. "Couldn't we gothe other way?""What do you mean?" Sarah asked. "Well, we passed the stairwell when we came in, walked through thecouch room—the parlor, past the one hallway, and through the dining room.  Another living room or parlor or whatevershould be the other way.  Just on theother side of the wall."Johnny shrugged. "Makes sense.  Butthere's only the one entrance to the kitchen. Not to mention the screwy décorfor a house—or inn or whatever—of this age. Avocado green is so '70s." Hegestured to the phone. "When I see him, I'll tell Farmer Bob you don't approve," Sarah said.  "Let's just go, okay?""I thought Farmer Bob was creepy-deepy Ben's name for our dear host."Sarah scowled at Kelsey and walked through the arch.  The three returned they way they'd come,passing the massive table, the small hallway and into the room with a couch andtwo chairs, the parlor to the right of the big staircase. Ben was on the couch,feet still propped high. He'd folded his hands behind his head and appeared tobe sleeping. "Where's Jared?" Johnny asked.Ben's eyes flickered open. "Huh?"Sarah sat on the edge of a chair with her back arched as though shewasn't comfortable coming in contact with the house in any way. "Jared.  Where is he? He was with you, in here, when we went on the phone hunt."The tightening came back to Kelsey, pressing against her lungs from allsides. She felt a tingling, hot braid of nerves climb her back and flush herface.  She looked from Ben to Sarah andJohnny. The chandelier flickered, darkening the room. But it hadn't actuallyflickered, had it? Her eyes tricked her, of course... "Dunno," Ben said.  "I guess hejust went exploring." "Exploring? Here?" Sarah scooted closer to the chair's edge. "What thehell for?""Architecture.  Jared's major,Sarah.  Maybe he's been inspired by thisplace.  Weren't you just saying somethingabout the kitchen?"Sarah glanced toward Kelsey. "That was Kels."Ben stood from the couch, stretching for the ceiling. "How big do youthink this place is, anyway?  I mean,from the outside, it looked massive. Like an old castle even, all thatlimestone around the foundation.""It could have been an inn or hotel, I guess." Johnny shook his head."I don't know. But we should find Jared." He walked to the stairs and cupped a hand against his face. "Jared?""What made you Captain Responsibility all of a sudden?  I'm sure Jared's around here somewhere."Jared's gone. The thought came to Kelsey as her breath came back to herlungs. She leaned against a wall, trying to steady her wobbly nerves. Jared'sgone, and he won't be coming back. She shook her head, trying to dislodge theunwelcome thought, but its roots had grown deep quickly.  "And we need to find him." Johnny pointed at Ben. "We can split up and stick together. I'll takeupstairs with—""Wait. Whoa.  Slow down there,Johnny." Ben waved his hands. "Who appointed you Fred of this Scooby Doo crew?"Johnny's hand clamped on the stair railing. His knuckles began towhiten.  "Just bad vibes about thisplace."  He peeled his hand away from therail and looked at it. "Just bad vibes."Kelsey rubbed her shoulders. "I felt it when we came in.  I feel it now.  Maybe it's just because of the wreck. I don'tknow. But I don't like it here. It's too clean. It's too—"Wood groaned from the floor above them and caught Kelsey's words in hermouth and sprinkled her with a wave of chills. "That's probably our intrepid architect now." Ben smiled. "I'll go andcheck.""We don't go alone." Johnny glanced at Kelsey and then his eyes restedon Sarah. Sarah rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll go with you Benny-boy." She glaredat Kelsey as she crossed the room. The two vanished up the stairs into the second floor's darkness.  Johnny stood with his back turned to Sarahfor a moment, a long moment in which the chill left her and she began thinkingabout Johnny—his broad shoulders and lean, stone-chiseled face.  Was it wrong to hope Johnny might comearound, might choose her?  He'd broken upwith Sarah two months ago, making the ski trip awkward—a reason, even a smallone—to be thankful for Ben being the fifth wheel.  Still, she had hoped Jared and Sarah mighthit it off, couple up, and leave Johnny for her.  She looked up, caught Johnny's eyes, and felta warm rush in her cheeks. "Why didn't you go with Ben?" she asked."Ben?  Sometimes I really hatethat bastard. I didn't want to punch him. I mean, how the hell can the guy fallasleep after hitting the ditch?""He was asleep before hitting the ditch," Sarah said. Johnny nodded. "True.  Besides, Ididn't want to leave any of the women alone."Kelsey crossed her arms. Now wasn't the time to show her hand. "Howchivalrous." "Don't go all feminista on me." Johnny shrugged. "We don't even knowwho lives here—hell, Farmer Bob could be asleep upstairs.  Maybe he's an ax murderer. This damn housemust be at least four or five thousand square feet. Three stories and abasement by the looks of the foundation. Huge. Maybe he is asleep upstairs.Maybe he knows we're here, and the old guy's watching."Kelsey shivered. "Stop playing. You're giving me the creepy-crawlies.Why do you call him an old guy, anyway?""Just a feeling.""Yeah. Me too.  The feeling."Kelsey rubbed her arms. The air had dropped a few degrees, but there wasn't adraft. If anything the room was dead. "Maybe it's the jitters after theaccident, but I don't like this place.""Definitely has a vibe." Johnny moved closer to Kelsey. His blue eyeslocked onto hers. He held out a hand. "We won't be here long."She hesitated, her breath catching in her throat, and then took hishand. The skin was cool and ruff, not warm like she'd expected. Maybe it wasthe room. Maybe the chill was in the house itself. "We should look, too." Johnny turned toward the hallway. "The basement, wherever it is?""I don't want to, but—"The scream stopped Kelsey's words before they left her mouth. Sarah'sscream. Kelsey didn't think again until she was, following Johnny, halfway upthe stairs. They rounded the landing, hurtled the final flight, spilling intothe darkened second story hallway.  Dim,yellowish light filtered from a window at one end. Down the other direction, ablack figure waved. "Down here!" Ben called.Kelsey's eyes adjusted to the darkened hallway, but she couldn't seeSarah. Johnny trotted in front. He didn't seem to be afraid—not like she was.Why was her heart rattling in her chest? Why did she feel like she couldn't breathe? Ben moved back, further intothe hallway. Johnny stepped through the doorway to which Ben had beenpointing.  He wheeled and tried to grabKelsey, but too late. She gasped. "Oh my God."  Herhands covered her mouth, but she couldn't shut her eyes. A man lay in a half-filled bathtub. His near-white hair clung close tohis pinkish scalp, but was not wet. Although his hair showed old age's silver-grey,the lack of lines on his face told a much younger story. His dead eyes staredat them, almost as though he'd been watching the door when he died. Almost asthough he'd been waiting for them. In his left hand, draped as it was over the tub'sedge, he held a knife, the folding type which held utility blades used inconstruction.  Thick gashes marred bothwrists, a disordered criss-crossing of cuts. His right arm stretched along thefar edge of the tub and wore a slash from the base of his hand to mid forearm.The cuts on the left were much smaller. Sarah whimpered from the corner. Johnny stepped inside and pulled her to him, pressing her face againsthis chest. "There's no blood," she muttered."Bullshit," Ben said. He'd closed in behind Kelsey, blocking the door.Sarah pushed away from Johnny's chest and glared at Ben. Her voicebecame firm, almost angry. "No blood. There's no God-damned blood."Kelsey's body turned to ice as she hunted—but didn't find—a singledrop.  The few inches of bathwater in thetub were clear despite the old man being fully clothed.  The linoleum floor reflected a small, sunnypatch from the window but was otherwise unmarred. "No blood at all."

Happy Birthday, Aimee

Once upon a time, you looked so innocent...

WIP Wednesday: Stranger in a Strange Land

And no, I'm not referring to Robert Heinlein's 1961 science fiction novel.

Not NaNo-ing always makes me feel a bit "out of the loop". Many bloggers are deep in the NaNo muck, and I'm here, piddling away at a pace of 500-800 words a day on my new book.  Not a NaNo pace at all. Not at all.

Slow and steady wins the race? All right... but I didn't know I was in a race.

Speaking of strangers, here's a snippet of strangeness from what I'm tentatively calling Reunion:

"Hold on," James said. "Where the hell did Carl go?" 

The three men faced each other and turned slowly, eyes scanning the rows of stone and dark fences of trees. James let his gaze drift past the grey ribbon of highway, K-15, which ran along the western edge of Greenwillow. No Carl. Plenty of darkness. A gust of hot summer breeze meandered through the cemetery. Late July brought temperatures near the century mark earlier that day, but James shivered.

Don't worry. Carl's fine.

For now.

Coming Soon...

Five years ago, one of them never left the house. Now they've returned, and Hollywood cameras will catch every moment...

What The Abominable Dr. Phibes Taught Me about Storytelling

I love classic horror films.

I simply adore 1971's The Abominable Dr. Phibes . Vincent Price is at his grandiose and macabre best playing the titular character. A major spoiler warning to those who have not seen this vintage gem: this post is about endings--the vengeful doctor's in particular.


The plot of  The Abominable Dr. Phibes revolves around revenge. Dr. Phibes seeks vengeance for his wife's untimely death on a London operating table. His mode: Old Testament plagues of the pharohs: bats, locusts, boils, rats, hail...

And in true Weird Tales style, Phibes accomplishes his murders with style (if not reality).  Phibes has a flair for the  post-steampunk with his hail-making machine wired to a car's battery (the film is set in the mid 1920s). But this post is about endings...

And the end to the movie is inevitable: Dr. Phibes chases revenge as Scotland Yard closes in on him. In the final sequences, as he forces Dr. Vesalius (Joseph Cotten) to perform surgery on Vesalius's son (to retrieve a key implanted near the boy's heart--um, did Saw really allude to Phibes? Hell yeah.), you get a sense it was all inevitable.

Phibes, through an ingenious neck transmitter to gramophone device, claims nine will die. Barks as much in Vesalius's face during surgery, in fact.

And nine do die.  But here's the storytelling magic: the ninth isn't Dr. Vesalius's son--it's Phibes himself. As the police break into the house, Vesalius rescues his boy, and Phibes's assistant Vulnavia dies under an acid bath (but she was a clockwork, I think), Phibes attaches himself to a pump in his underground vault, lies down next to his wife's corpse, and fades away as the pump removes his blood and replaces it with formaldehyde.

Yeouch.

What can a storyteller learn? The ending, even when it seems inevitable, can still surprise an audience and be right. Even though Phibes is a heartless killer throughout the film, he does it with a style and charisma which leaves the viewer (at least this viewer) cheering in the end.  Phibes seals his tomb as he dies, leaving the police wondering how he escaped and the audience in on his little secret. He never planned on escape.

It's perfect. The writers didn't choose the easy ending: revenge on Dr. Vesalius (he did save his son) and no one expected Phibes to be the ninth to die. When is the last time the police never caught the baddie? Beautiful.

So writers, ask yourself at the end: choice A or B? And then choose C.



(Need I mention Phibes plays a bad-ass pipe organ?)

I Will Work Harder

Yesterday, I felt like a rock-star teacher. We held revision camp in two of my classes, both college-prep composition courses. I cheered students efforts, challenged their fledgling skills, and knocked a few proverbial home-run lessons about showing/telling and waste words out of the park.

Writing for publication--and all the effort involved--has made me a better teacher. A far better teacher. Thanks to each and every editor who has given a minute or two to push my words through the meat-grinder.

I'll have a few words and some numbers about The Big Experiment soon, but for now, I feel pretty good about this:


As of this writing, it's #9 at Amazon UK under Horror>Short Stories.  Books above it? M.R. James, Edgar Allan Poe, H.P. Lovecraft, and Tim Burton.  I'm humbled.

And this is okay, too:






As of this writing, it's #11 at Amazon US under Horror>Ghosts.

Thanks, readers. I will work harder. I will keep writing. I will work harder.

WIP Wednesday: Winners, Start Your Imaginations

First things first, let's hear it for my October Contest winners:

Grand Prize: Gef Fox

1st Place: Anthony Rapino

2nd Place: K.C. Shaw

Fred, tell them what they've won...

"Grand Prize: You name and supply physical/psychological characteristics for a character in my next book. Here's the teaser: Four friends gather at their twenty year high school reunion to pay respects to a friend who died in high school... Within a week of their meeting, one of them is murdered. I'll leave it there, for now.

1st Place: You supply me with two characters (general types, e.g., plumber--you can name them if you wish), a situation, and a setting, and I write a piece of flash fiction (of at least 500 words) to share with the world.You may even name the piece, if you wish.

2nd Place: I will write a Friday Flash (of at least 100 words) with any title you supply."

As for the Coffin Hop winner, Jennifer Smith was among a handful of entrants who correctly identified Three Dog Night as the band "Monster Shindig" singer Danny Hutton fronted in the '60s/'70s. 

Winners, I'll be in touch soon--if you want to drop me a line at aaron.polson(at)gmail.com first, go ahead.

Then there's this:


Five years ago, one of them never left the house... Now, they're back. Welcome home.
Coming soon.